


help me

by odysseus



Series: BAD ENDINGS [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, seriously though it's pure angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6084735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odysseus/pseuds/odysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why could he not save the people he loved the most?</p>
            </blockquote>





	help me

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fanfiction for my friend's project!  
> you might also recognize her as the one who i dedicated that one brettyril fic to btw  
> yeah it's her ocs, i don't own them! just own this idea

He just wanted to help.

Crimson, viscous liquid flowed from the palm of his pale hands; a big contrast to the bright colours that blossomed forth from the lines of his palm. His eyes, dull yet strong in pigment idly stared down at his hands, and then back at the carnage he had caused. Blood red followed the creases in his palm on the concrete flooring, blooming at every corner. It is red, coating the floors from top to and at every edge. It soaked the hem of his jeans, but he can’t afford to care about it. Blood can be washed off, right?  
It takes a million and two hundred thousand mosquitoes to completely drain the average human of blood, if each mosquito sucks once.

His eyes were the shade of a strong, phthalo blue, at least that was what Aisle told him. Oh, what tragedy! The last time he saw the girl was in the hospital, eyes closed and face deathly pale, a permanent frown etched onto her lips – she told him that people looked peaceful when dead, but it caused unease, it made chills crawl onto his back and it made his head spin and made bile force through his esophagus.  
He continued to walk through the now-emptied town, dull, blue optics glancing side to side. (It’s not phthalo blue anymore if Aisle is not around) He hates that it’s empty. He hates that there is blood pooling at every place he goes – in escape from the nausea-causing red that gnawed at his mind, clawed at his skin, wafted through his nose. He was going home, he decided, and he agreed with his own idea.  
There are around a hundred thousand miles of blood vessels in an adult human’s body.

Nero once told him about the violent games he usually played, how those games usually had a way you could go without going on a massacre. (That means to slaughter everything in your path, Aisle pointed out to a once-lost Halcyon) Maybe there was a way that this could have all ended, Halcyon thought, but he knew, deep in his heart, that it was impossible. The last time he saw him- hanging with a noose tightened around his throat, suspended in midair in the back of a dark closet.

He never knew that people held this much blood in their body, really.

Your heart pumps enough blood to fill two hundred train tank cars during your lifetime.

Even if the streets are crowded with deceased people and flooded with the red he once despised and still despised, he feels completely and utterly alone. He misses them. Aisle and Nero, he misses the two of them – the only two people that had appreciated him for who he is (after a bit of pestering, he had to admit) – the people that he would have never dreamed would be his best friends – the people he loved and treasured as much as his own mother…

Why could he not save the people he loved the most? Did God curse him with a power that repelled him from helping when people were in need of help? What did he do to deserve this curse? Could the god above not see that he was trying oh-so hard to repent; to atone for whatever sin he had caused? Was that sin not being able to help his mother? He could not help it, he swore! He could not help that he messed up at every major happenstance in his life, he could not help that he was not good enough for his father (who drinks at every given opportunity and comes home in a drunken stupor, and every single time he sees his father eye to eye he only observes the shell of what could have been a loving father) and he could not help that he was just so in need of a friend. Did God punish people for wanting a friend? Even Aisle would not know that – she was not much of a religious person, he noted.

Home, at last.

He replaced the eerie ambience, complete with the cold wind and the static in his ears with a silly little tune he made up. He forced himself to chin up, to look forward, and to put a big fat grin on his stupid odious face. Mama would not like it if he was sad. Aisle and Nero would despise it if he was sad. They all would want him to smile, to face tomorrow, to look forward to a better future – but what is a future without those three? What is a good future without those three beside him?

His heart ached at the memory of them – he could feel his hands becoming clammy. He could feel hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes, dripping down like decay, feeling like it was corroding his skin. It hurt to cry. It hurt to hear every single voice calling out for “Halcyon” to stop whatever he was doing before, each voice rushing through his mind and in a whirl, he might as well travelled to the past.  
It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt make it stop the pounding of his head was intense and it felt like his skull was about to split in to two; please STOP PLEASE STOP. 

He regretted it.

Maybe if he did not kill anyone, he would not be experiencing this guilt that weighed on his heart. Maybe if he had just shut himself from the world when he snapped a long time ago, no one would die. Maybe everyone would be just better without him, would they not?! His helping did not ward off any premonition, his helping just delayed any sort of bad happenings. It was at random, it was like someone above flipped a coin to see if the person that helped lived or die, and it did not help even more when the coin seemed to flip at “tails; this person will die” whenever it related to someone he was deeply in love with.  
His help did not matter in this cruel, wide world he lived in.

So, what use was it to not be useful, in this world? Halcyon had to laugh at that silly trifle thought that flashed through his head, because he already knew the answer. 

Shaking, trembling, his pale hands lifted up the weapon that he used to destroy everyone in the town, a wide, insane smile plastered on his head.

Useless, that was what use it was to not be useful in the world he lived in.

The weapon drew closer and closer to his head, fingers tightening their vice around the handle, beads of sweat seemingly raining on his forehead and down his cheek and chin like blood that trickled down his arms after a job well done.

The boy sucked in a deep breath, and ended the life of an unhappy boy; Halcyon.


End file.
